


Never Liked Him

by Limpet666



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Abuse tactics, Attempted Sexual Assault, Coercion, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 17:49:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9618539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Limpet666/pseuds/Limpet666
Summary: “Nice shot on Mario, by the way. Never liked him.”What if there was a reason Victor didn't like Mario? What if he had been with the Falcone family long enough to really know the measure of Don Falcone's son?





	

**Author's Note:**

> I have nothing against Mario in-canon, but if you’re a big fan this probably isn’t for you. He’s not very nice in this.
> 
> Zsasz’s appearance in this is very much inspired by this look:

 

“Victor Zsasz, I’d like to introduce you to my son, Mario Calvi.”

Victor knew immediately he didn’t like the young man before him. A couple years older than him, maybe, and an inch or two taller, he held himself with a confident arrogance that befitted both his family name and his station.

“Aren’t you a little young to be… _Security_?” The title was said slowly, and they both knew it was a euphemism of sorts. _Security, errand boy, assassin_. But regardless, Victor tried not to bristle.

“I’m 19, sir.”

“And he’s proven himself to be very useful,” Falcone added, ruffling Victor’s unruly hair fondly, and the pride in his voice made Victor stand up a little straighter.

Since ingratiating himself to the Falcone family, Victor had run many errands for them, all to satisfactory conclusions. He was young, and handsome, and people tended to underestimate his charming smile and awkward words.

He hadn’t yet been called on to kill, but the prospect didn’t bother him. He had said as such to Falcone before, and now got the impression that the Don was trying to keep him from it for as long as possible. He didn’t mind. His time would come.

“Victor, Mario is back at home for a few weeks, and I’d like you to chaperone him whilst he’s here.”

The way Mario’s shoulders tensed just briefly told Victor he liked the news just about as much as Victor did.

Carmine continued undaunted, “Two young men, I figured you’d have more in common than if I assigned any of the older staff.” He looked for their agreement, and it was all Victor could do to school his expression to something neutral.

“That sounds fine, Father,” Mario said, smiling magnanimously, but his eyes were sharp and cold as they stared at Victor.

The sinking in his stomach told Victor that he was going to have to be extra careful around the man, and Victor tried to always trust his gut.

—

For three days they maintained a cool indifference. They didn’t try to hide their mutual dislike, and contrary to Carmine’s hopes, they really had nothing in common.

And it was painfully clear that Mario Calvi, son of Don Falcone, Medical student at the most prestigious university money could buy, looked down on Victor Zsasz like he was gutter trash.

And Victor thought he was a spoiled rich boy, who apparently couldn’t drive his own damn car but still insisted sitting shotgun and sniping at Victor at every opportunity.

“What is it my father sees in you, Zsasz?” Mario asked, voice bored. They were parked and waiting, awkwardly, on a darkened street for some sort of signal from the house opposite. Victor assumed it was a girl Mario was planning some brief holiday fling with, but he hadn’t cared enough to ask.

“I don’t know, sir,” Victor said slowly, hoping if he drew out his words the signal would come and Mario would go away.

“He seems to be very fond of you, what’s your angle? You think he’s going to see you like a son?” The bite of jealousy in his voice was acidic.

“No sir,” Victor replied dully, then before he could stop himself he continued.

“I like to think I’ll be more useful than that.” It was a dumb thing to say, but Victor assumed they were on equal footing when it came to sniping and backbiting.

Victor was wrong.

The pain came out of nowhere.

He was briefly aware of a hand in his hair before his face was slammed hard into the steering wheel. His nose erupted in a flash of pain, and as he was yanked back upright bright stars flashed before his eyes.

“You don’t talk to me like that,” Mario said plainly, eyes back on the house before them like nothing had occurred.

Victor was stunned, distantly aware of warm blood dripping down over his lips as he just stared at the man beside him. His fingers itched for the knife in his belt, a roaring rage in his ears that was all of a sudden tamped down by the realisation that if he hurt Mario, Falcone would kill him.

He had no recourse.

He was powerless.

“Ah!” Mario straightened in his seat before opening the door, eyes on the light that had just come on in the upstairs window of the house. He climbed from the car, and then leaned back down to fix Victor with an icy, knowing smirk.

“Okay, pick me up in 2 hours.” He said before slamming the door harder than necessary, and leaving Victor breathing quick and shallow in the dark.

—

“What happened to your face, Victor?”

It had been the question Victor was dreading, and he stared at the glass at Falcone’s elbow rather than look into his face. Mario was just sitting down at the table and let out a barking laugh.

“Your man isn’t so coordinated as I would have expected, father,” he said before Victor could say anything. “Wasn’t paying attention to where he was going yesterday and walked right into a tree. Isn’t that right, Zsasz?”

What could he say? He couldn’t contradict him.

“Yes, sir,” Victor bit out the words, slowly lifting his eyes to look at Falcone, hoping maybe he could portray through a look what he couldn’t say out loud.

But Falcone wasn’t looking at him anymore, preoccupied instead with the newspaper in front of him.

“You should be more careful, Victor.” He said dismissively, clearly satisfied with his son’s account of things, and Victor’s stomach squirmed unhappily.

And the smirk Mario was sending his way told Victor he knew exactly what position he had him in.

“Yes, Boss.”

—

After that, Mario didn’t even try to hide his sense of entitlement over Victor. Whereas before, they could barely stand to be near each other, now Mario seemed to take a special pleasure in making Victor uncomfortable.

At first it was just words; constant snipes at his his abilities, his qualifications, even his looks. Then he started touching him.

“I suppose you’re not bad to look at, if you like doe-eyed and vacant,” Mario said out of nowhere after taking hold of Victor’s chin in a steely grip.

They were waiting to be picked up from a function Mario had been invited to, and were quite alone in the dimly lit foyer.

Automatically Victor snapped his head away and stepped back with a scowl. His nose throbbed in reminder not to say anything out of turn, so instead he just stood there silent and seething.

Mario laughed, a perfectly pleasant noise that hid the dark and manipulative undertones.

“Relax, Zsasz, it was a compliment,” he told him, smiling blithely.

Then, when Victor was silent, he added, “Usually people say ‘thank you’ for compliments.” His voice had dropped to a dangerous rumble, and Victor braced himself for violence again, jaw clenched against the words that fought to escape.

This was going too far, but other than stand his ground Victor didn’t know what else to do.

Fortunately before things could escalate, a car rolled to a comfortable stop outside, and in the flash of headlights Mario’s sneer faded to a polite smile.

“Well,” he sighed, straightening his tie, “Time to go.”

He looked to Victor expectantly, and with a stiff posture Victor yanked open the door for his ward to pass and Mario smiled at him smugly.

_“Thank you.”_

—

Over the next days, Victor spent his time trying to avoid every inappropriate touch Mario saw fit to place on him.

Car rides were the hardest.

With his hands on the wheel, Victor was powerless to stop the large, possessive hand that rubbed over his leg.

“Sir.” Victor’s teeth were clenched, eyes on the road and trying not to get distracted by how much the touch made his skin crawl.

“Hmm?” Mario was looking right at him, Victor could see out of the corner of his eye, and the hand on his thigh squeezed a warning. Almost hard enough to hurt.

Hard enough to make Victor weigh up his options, and for him to finally, hatefully, remain silent.

He was silent as Mario got more and more bold, fearing that if he said one word out of turn, the spoiled brat would ruin his standing with Falcone.

He could even have him killed, if he felt the whim.

Then Mario went too far and Victor didn’t care any more.

It was dark, as it often was when Mario put his hands on Victor. Just inappropriate touches to begin with; a hand on his ass, or brushing in too close to his front. Then they got more possessive; long fingers darting in to cup around Victor’s neck, not tight, but threatening. Or slipping back aggressively through Victor’s hair, daring him to say _anything_.

But Victor had been counting down the days to when Mario left. Tomorrow evening he would drive him to the airport, and he would be gone. Finally.

_‘One more day,’_ Victor told himself.

Something in his gut told him tonight was different, but Victor ignored it, put it down to the pleasure of knowing it was almost over.

A walk in the gardens was nothing unusual, Mario had done it many times whilst he had been there. Sometimes with female company, always with Victor following closing behind. Even on the family grounds, Falcone insisted on protecting his son, and nothing about it set alarm bells ringing for Victor.

Mario walked far out into the depths of the garden, away from the lights of the house, until the only illumination was from the bright moon overhead. Victor followed with some measure of frustration; it was getting late, and he was out here following around some spoiled rich brat who needed a babysitter.

Then he stopped, and turned, and Victor could see something was about to happen, and his mind whispered that he should have heeded the warning signs.

Mario stepped up close, and the two inches of height he currently had on Victor made him seem to tower over him.

Victor tried to step back with a scowl, only to have Mario’s hand snatch out and grab a fistful of his hair, halting any movement with a painful iron grip.

“I didn’t say you could move.” Mario said with a sneer, tightening his grip further and making Victor wrinkle his nose in discomfort. His hand had automatically flown to Mario’s wrist to pull him away, and he was doing everything in his power to resist digging his nails into the man’s skin.

“Stop it,” Victor finally growled, jaw clenched, his lithe frame already shivering with tension. But he couldn’t fight or run without there being consequences.

“You don’t tell me what to do,” Mario bit out, his venomous smile turning into a snarl of anger, “My father _owns_ you. You do what _I_ say.” He punctuated the words by using the hand fisted in Victor’s hair to push his head to the side and down, forcing him to turn his face away.

Victor shook with adrenaline, hand tightening around Mario’s wrist until a voice came close to his ear, harsh and threatening.

“Let. Go.” It demanded, and Victor stared at the grass with wide unblinking eyes.

Then, abruptly, he let go of Mario’s wrist and dropped his hand to his side. It was like a different part of him did it, the rational part of his mind that told him to do what he was told or risk losing everything he had worked for.

The waves of pleasure seemed to ooze out of Mario at being obeyed, and his hold lessened just a little in Victor’s hair.

“Good boy,” his voice was dangerously affectionate, and Victor grimaced at the tone.

Then his head was being moved again, a quick uncomfortable jerk, and he was being kissed. Hard and violent and possessive, the hand in his hair clenched tighter than before to hold him still.

Victor was stunned to inaction, eyes wide and breath stuck as he felt the movement of the other man’s mouth on his own.

And that’s when it was too much. Because he realised then what Mario intended for him that night.

He had to get away.

The taste of blood, at least, was satisfying, as was the pained yell Mario let out as he pulled away abruptly, mouth bloodied from when Victor had bit nearly clean through his lip.

Unfortunately Mario kept his vice grip in Victor’s hair, which held him nice and still for Mario to knee him in the gut and then punch him in the head with the other hand.

Victor hit the grass winded and dazed, trying to blink the stars out of his eyes as a large form descended upon him, yanking him over onto his back.

“You’ll pay for that!” The snarl was full of self righteous anger, and Victor willed his vision to stop spinning.

But by then Mario was already on top of him, a hand about his neck and a knees leaned painfully on his thighs to pin him down as the other hand attempted to get into Victor’s clothes.

It was the cool night air on his chest that finally sharpened his senses, dark eyes focusing on the man above him with a feral expression.

Fighting against the lack of air, Victor twisted and bucked like a wildcat under the other man, hands around Mario’s wrist to try and ease the pressure on his windpipe until he finally got one leg free and swiftly pulled it up to knee his attacker in the ribs.

Victor was a good fighter, well trained for one so young, and the kick was enough to send Mario sprawled onto the grass next to him as Victor quickly rolled away.

His knives were out of his boots and into his hands before he had even finished his roll, and his dark eyes were trained on Mario. Just waiting for the signal.

If Mario Falcone was going to be his only kill in this life, in that moment Victor didn’t think he would regret it. He was sure he would be dead by morning if he killed the Don’s son, but he had no plans to let that man lay another hand on him.

And then Mario laughed. A nasty laugh as he propped himself off the ground and spat blood into the grass.

“I can see why my father likes you so much,” he sneered, and it in no way sounded like a compliment coming from him. He stared at Victor and his knives, eyes travelling the full length of him with clear consideration.

Then he was pushing himself up with a deep sigh, and Victor stayed crouched, watching him distrustfully like a caged animal.

“This was fun, Victor,” Mario wiped his mouth on his sleeve, smirking down at the other man, “Let’s do this next time I’m back.”

A full conversation happened between their gazes. And at the end of it Victor knew Mario still had the upper hand. Still had every opportunity to ruin Victor, if he so felt like it.

The notion made Victor want to kill him all the more.

But he remained motionless, and then Mario was gone without another word, walking back towards the house like nothing had happened at all.

And Victor was left clutching at his knives, and shaking out the last of the adrenaline as he pulled the torn parts of his shirt back around himself.

—

Back in the safety of his rooms, Victor locked the door and added a chair under the handle for good measure before going straight to the bathroom and undressing.

He felt dirty and shaky, and there was blood on his lips and chin that served as a reminder of what he’d just narrowly avoided.

And he couldn’t tell if the tightness in his stomach was from fear or fury.

But either way it didn’t matter. It was done, and he had no recourse. He had escaped with his life, and his career, in tact, for now. For that he would try to be grateful.

The water was nearly scalding, and when he emerged his skin was pink from the heat.

Wiping down the mirror, Victor stared at his own reflection. The blood was gone, but a fist-sized bruise was already forming over his temple and into his hairline. And the back of his head throbbed from where he had be grabbed and restrained.

As he ran his fingers back through the wet tangle of his hair, his eyes fell to the razor laying on the sink before him. And he made a decision.

No one was ever going to control him in _that_ way again.


End file.
